Kinners vs SHIELD
by Kinners
Summary: After screening a potentially dangerous phone call, S.H.I.E.L.D. inadvertently picks up none other than-*Dramatic drumroll*-yours truly! As Kinners is graced with the presence of famous agent after famous agent, she winds herself ever deeper into an ever-growing facade. Note: 'Me' has been modified so as to not completely reflect my real life persona. This is for security reasons.
1. Sllllloooooooooooowwwwwwly

Vision slowly returns to me. Slowly. _Slooooooooowwwwwwwwlyyyyyyyy._ It's kind of annoying, waiting so long, but when I can see, it's pretty interesting.

I'm in a straightjacket, which is weird, but slightly cool. I've never been in one before. It's not as comfy as I thought it would be, more like wearing a cot. But I know better than to struggle-you only need to watch the End of Time arc once to learn that straightjackets aren't the end of the world. The end of time and all lesser existence, maybe, but who cares? That's happened at least three or four times in Doctor Who. I yawn before I can stop myself, although it's unlikely that I would've stopped myself anyway. My contacts are irritating me, as if I slept in them...oh. Let's see, woke up without haven consciously fallen asleep, in a strange room, and in a straightjacket. Duh.

Sitting across from me at the steel table I find myself pulled up to is a bald African American dude with an eyepatch. The one eye seems all the brighter and blazier, as if to make up for its missing brother. I swallowed to get the stale taste out of my mouth, but it didn't prove very effective. What was the last thing I ate? I'm pretty sure my palate's going to be feeling that for a while.

"Hi!" I greet cheerily, trying as valiantly as possible to replicate David Tennant's line in the Idiot Lantern episode. He sighs quietly, as if I'm annoying him. "And, um...who would you be?"

"I was just about to ask you the same," he rumbles. My smile vanishes-I had the feeling he was mad at me for some reason. "If you're pulling some innocent cover, I suggest you drop it now. We don't take well to illusionists here."

"I'll say!" crows another voice. A door slides open to my right, revealing a new dude in a t-shirt and jeans. He has dark hair and a flashy mustache, which I instantly adored. He has a bit of a furtive look about him, with bright black eyes and a deceptively emotionless expression. He points at me, his other hand occupied with what appeared to be potato chips.

"That's our guy?" he clarifies, cocking an eyebrow as he ran this development by the first dude. I raise both eyebrows at this.

"_Girl_, in case you haven't noticed," I replied carefully. "Oh, and by the way, hi! Love the mustache. I'd wave frantically, but I seem to have been denied control of my arms."

"That's our guy," replies Eyepatch, ignoring me. Even ruder than not waving at every person that enters the room! Who does this guy think he is? I almost don't want to be burdened with the information. I blink at him blankly.

"What did I do this time?" I grumble, mock scowling. "Oh no, let me guess-was I sleepwalking? I hope I didn't break the universe with a shovel again. Last time was pretty embarrassing!"

Now they're both looking at me weird. I don't know what I did wrong. The thought reminds me of Derpyhooves. I'm scatterbrained that way. Then I realize why the dark-haired guy looks so familiar to me. He looks just like…

...no, that's not possible. Is it?

"You know who you remind me of?" I ask, gesturing to mustache man with an obscure shoulder thrust. "It's kind of uncanny, but you look just like Tony Stark from the battle of-"

Tony stares at me for a moment, as if willing me to put the pieces together. My brain explodes and a huge grin busts out on my face simultaneously.

"No way."

"Way," replies Tony.

"Director Fury, head of S.H.I.E.L.D.," introduces chrome dome. "In case you're wondering why you were picked up, we got your call. About Loki."

It takes me a moment to contemplate what he's saying, partially because I had a hyperactive breakdown that lasted about ten seconds.

"The Tony Stark!?" I blurt, my smile so big it would give Pinkie Pie a joyful heart attack. The words tumble out of my mouth like a litter of puppies out of a pen. "As in, _Iron Man, _AKA Tony Stark? That is _so cool!_ Are the rest here? Hawkeye, Black Widow, Banner, Rogers, the works? Ooh, what about Thor? Wait, did you ask me something?"

"I did," growls Fury. At his scowl, I attempt to calm down, an attempt that died stillborn.

"You mean my call to my friend Mike the other day?" Fury cocks an eyebrow at me, an invitation to continue in my book. "Yeeeah, I don't think I mentioned Loki. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know my Nordic mythology, but I don't, like, _know_ him. If I did, then that's where I'd get my improv lessons."

"You didn't mention him, huh?" challenged Fury. I shrank a little. "Tony, play back the call."

Grunting affirmation through a mouthful of potato chips, Tony pulls out a mobile phone and does something techno-wizardy with the intercom speaker on the table next to Fury. My phone call from yesterday plays back, only rendering my speech and not Mike's.

"_Heyaaall!_...yeah, are you coming to Thor 2 today? ...aw, that's too bad. That's okay, I'll *kk*ill you in. Hm?...oh, okay. Sorry, you know how I am about spoilers...right? That's the one thing you _can_ trust me with! I've got the korkiest brain since Loki put on his extra-tricky-hat! ...yes, I stole that from How to Train your Dragon. Cowell is the best, am I right? ...you _still_ haven't read that!? Geez...don't even start! May magic be my shield…all right, I'll meet you at the helic-what?...oh yeah. Shows how much of an airhead I am. Might as well be an empty cube...'kay, bye."

Nick rubbed his temples, swearing under his breath.

"So you mean to tell me," began Tony, rolling his eyes at me as if it's all my fault. "that we picked up eight keywords from an innocent conversation between you and your buddy Mitch?"

"Mike."

"Whatever."

"I apologize for the inconvenience," said Fury, letting out a deep breath and clenching his fists. "You may go now."

"Oh no you don't, you tricksy hobbit!" I retorted. "I'm not_ that_ dumb. Not to say I'm not dumb, because I am certifiably dumb. But anyway, I know that you're not going to just let me go with vital information!"

"Such as, 'I met Iron Man! What now!?'" imitated Tony. I pouted at him.

"She's right, Tony," relented Fury. "She knows that we really exist, for one thing. How do we fix that?"

"I guess I can't go anywhere with such devastating intel," I fake sigh, casting my eyes to the ceiling. "Imagine if I was to move outside the country. What if I was interrogated by Russian terrorists? Or by _Chitauri?_ Odin forbid that should happen!"

Tony and Fury were silent for a while.

"You're not going anywhere."


	2. Bagel, Peanut Butter

Tony and Fury left the room, leaving me alone under the stark white light on the ceiling. Heh, Stark, do you see what I did there? Anyway, I got bored. Really bored. So I started singing to myself, as I am wont to do when I get bored. Nothing melodramatic, just Pinkie's Brew from Friendship is Witchcraft. The Russian Gypsy Jazz version. Can't be too careful with backing up the Russian Terrorist threat, can I?

I was just at my favorite part in the song when the door opens up again. A girl hangs in the doorway for a minute, talking to someone just outside the door that I can't see. But then in she comes, and I instantly recognize her. Black Widow. I almost had a mental breakdown then and there. First Iron Man, now _her!?_ What are the chances of something as crazy as this? One in seven point o' four six billion. Guess I'm number 7,046,000,000.

"So you're the red alert?" mused Natasha, taking a seat. I shrug at her unhelpfully, which doubtless told her fifteen things about myself. Okay, maybe twenty. I can't help it, I'm expressive, and it doesn't help that Black Widow could probably determine what I had for breakfast this morning from the way I roll my eyes.

"What're you gonna do, lady?" I taunt. What am I doing? "Read my lips? Figure out what I had for breakfast? I won't talk."

"I don't believe you," she replied. I thought she would've smirked, or frowned at least, but she kept a poker face that was about as communicative as a goldfish. "I can tell. You're the kind of girl who talks a lot. About…?"

"Doctor Who, Star Wars, Ponies, Lord of the Rings-you name it!" I answered peppily. "Wait-that's cheating! You're supposed to read my body language to figure out what I'm thinking! Why am I still in a straitjacket? They're not very comfy, y'know. Could I get this off?"

"Stop trying to change the subject, please," ordered Natasha calmly. She's really good at that. I wonder what her secret is.

"I wasn't trying to change the subject!" I retorted indignantly in my best outraged-old-dude voice. "The thought of it appals me! How could such an innocent creature as me cheat her way out of a good ol' fashioned interrogation!?"

"This isn't an interrogation," stated Natasha flatly. "It's a confession."

"Well, you could've_ told_ me that in the first place!" I snapped. "Would've saved me a lot of trouble. You interrogation people have no people skills whatsoever! I mean, have you ever thought of _asking nicely_ if this or that happened? 'Cause when you think about it, all the spies are programmed to resist abominable torture techniques, not kindness and friendship! In this day and age, you could probably get Loki himself to talk with no one but Fluttershy! Or maybe Pinkie Pie. Derpy? Maybe, depending on the situation..,"

"All right, all right, we get it," chided Natasha, raising a hand to shut me up. 'We?' I should've known she had someone on taps! "You will confess willingly?"

I nodded. What the merry kriff was I getting myself into?

"All right," invited Natasha, leaning back casually. She hadn't smiled since she entered the room, which kinda bummed me out. "Let's hear it."

"Let's see here," I began, hatching a spontaneous alibi in my head as I went on. "It all started twenty-something years ago. I know what you're thinking: that's impossible, she's not that old. But I am not a teenager-in fact I don't know if I qualify as human anymore. 1990's, U2 was ramping it up, everything was hip and chill. Then I get bitten by a werewolf, which is why I've barely aged a year or two in the space of twenty.

"About a month or two after I became a werewolf, I'm approached by what appears to be a middle-aged businessman with weird eyes and dark hair. He had it slicked back...I think he was trying to pull off a mafia look. Anyway, he reveals that he knows everything about me, from age one to the present. Well, the back-then present, not today-present. We lost contact. He hires me for his 'upcoming coup,' says that he likes my wolf talents, and I sign up. I started small at first; sniffing out certain people this guy wants, interpreting the rhythms of the moon, etcetera. But I get suspicious when he starts letting little things slip-he doesn't seem to recognize national things like cars and chain restaurants.

Then I walk in while he's meditating, and I find him in this ridiculous horned helmet, waltzing around stabbing imaginary bad guys and practicing excellent brazilian jujitsu. Since I was his closest confidante, he tried to explain things to me and keep me involved...but unfortunately, that night was a full moon, so I accidentally killed him and escaped across the countryside. I ran from Chicago to Milwaukee that night! I never really ran into him again, but ever since then I've been catching glimpses of him in crowds. But that's impossible, because I killed him, so there."

Natasha waits a long time before replying. I'm not surprised-that was a mouthful, even for me.

"This man," she started, leaning over the table and looking me in the eye. "What did he look like?"

"Like I said," I described nonchalantly. "Dark hair, almost to his shoulders, slicked back. Always looked sorta greasy. Kinda pale, but regal features. He could charm the socks off of Mike's cat, if he put his mind to it. Like to wear lots of greens and grays, and a gold chain around his neck. But his eyes were _really _strange, blue one minute and green the next. Why?"

Natasha put her hand up to her ear, looking away as she spoke.

"Fury, we have a hit."

My face blanched.

"That's not possible," I blurted. "He took a swipe that gashed open his _whole chest._ I remember exactly what the wound looked like. No one could have survived that. He's dead. D-E-A-D. Right?"

But by then, Natasha was halfway out the door. But she paused to say three words to me.

"Bagel. Peanut butter."

And then she was off. Well, I lost _that_ bet.


	3. Loki Loki Loki Loki

After unzipping my straitjacket haphazardly, she walked out of the room a little too urgently for my liking, still talking to the Director through her ear as she carried on. I got up and began to pull the tarplike garment off of me, reflecting on my mile-long lie. I had only realized after Black Widow's reaction that I had subconsciously been describing a man who looked a lot like Loki, who was currently S.H.I.E.L.D.'s public enemy numero uno. I didn't know why I had lied so badly-I'd never done that for anything, to anyone. I'm sure I would've made Loki proud, if I actually knew him. It suddenly hits me how deep I've gotten myself in. A not-so-little fib has guaranteed me extended stay in custody of the Avengers, possibly worse if I'm not careful. But I'm not the best liar in the world...far from it, really, which is why I'm amazed that Natasha apparently believed me. Whom could I trust to help me out of this?

In walk two new people, both of which I instantly recognize from the movies. The buff guy with the blondish-brown hair was Hawkeye, which was pretty awesome by itself. But that wasn't not the best part, not by a long shot. The handcuffed guy he was pushing in front of him had shiny black hair, semi-medieval apparel, and greeny-blue eyes. No joke.

It's Loki.

Loki loki loki loki.

Oh my gods.

What is that in his pocket?

"Hawkeye, right?" I chirpped, smiling at him. I was trying as valiantly as I could not to show my overreaction to Loki's presence. Hawkeye just looked at me like I'm weird and cuffed Loki to the chair that Fury had just vacated. Sighing and rolling his eyes, surprisingly similarly to a teenager, Loki took that as an invitation to sit down. I still had that song stuck in my head, so I inadvertently started humming it. Loki glared at Hawkeye, undoubtedly asking him why he is being faced with this imbecile.

"If I may ask, why am I being interrogated by a Midgardian child?" he demanded. That kinda hurt my feelings, so I shut up. No doubt they were both grateful for that.

"Because you two know each other, as far as Fury is concerned," replied Hawkeye stoically. "If I told you more, I'd be burned."

With that, Hawkeye was outta here before either of us could say another word. Loki smiled at me fakely.

"Hello, 'friend,'" he introduced. I wasn't sure how to reply-my brain tends to go AWOL at the least convenient of times.

"Yes, hi," I replied, a little too woodenly. I glanced around the room, certain that there were cameras somewhere. But I could find none. I still knew that they were watching, but there wasn't much I could do about that. I leaned over the table casually, gesturing with a flick of my head at Loki.

"Can you see the cameras?" I whispered in a low voice. He cast his gaze around the room. I couldn't check behind me, as that would be too obvious a gesture. And in any case, perhaps his alien vision was keener than mine.

"How do you know there are cameras?" he replied, narrowing his eyes at my apparent paranoia.

"C'mon, man, this is _S.H.I.E.L.D._," I pointed out, glaring slightly. In honesty, Loki should've known that...I had a feeling that had just been a test. "They've got to have cameras."

Loki looked up at something behind me, then turned it into a sigh and a backwards stretch to conceal his actions. "Yes. One behind you in the top left corner, and there are doubtless others. Why?"

"Can you fool them?" I asked, ignoring his question for the time being. He nodded, waiting for me to explain. I took a deep breath, pressing my forehead to the steel tabletop for what felt like eternity.

"I'm waiting," reminded Loki in a bit of a singsong voice. I looked up finally, bracing myself for my confession.

"I convinced Fury that I'm one of your ex-agents," I admitted, speaking in a low voice even though I knew that Loki had it covered. "which I'm obviously not. You would know. That's why you were sent in here. They doubtless want to catch our reactions to each other to determine if I'm telling the truth."

"You could've told me that before I pulled the illusion," he growled. I shrugged guiltily.

"In any case, if they find out I'm lying, who knows what they'll do to me?" I insist, my inner fear bleeding into my voice and giving me a panicky tone. "I don't know why I lied, I just did. Getting to hang with the Avengers is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you know? But I'm in too deep and I don't know how to dig myself out of-"

"Hey," Loki silenced me. I whimpered and concealed my face within my folded arms. I was about to cry, which would have been pretty embarrassing to a god. But I was just overwhelmed all of a sudden. I had no idea how I'd gotten myself in such a fix, it had all happened so fast. And why the heck would a fugitive god stoop to help me out of a fix that just so happened to involve him? For all I knew, he would condemn me to a mindwipe and/or execution. Loki isn't known for his mercy, just his lies. But at the same time, his smooth talk and animosity towards the Avengers is the only thing that can help me. He nudged me, causing me to look up at him again. I know how cliche this is going to sound sound, but I can't stop myself from thinking it:

_ Help me, Loki. You're my only hope._

"I'm the God of Mischief," murmured Loki sensitively, inexplicably calming me. I was fully aware that he could be manipulating me into my grave, but I was powerless to fight his enchanted wordplay. "I've conned my brother, my enemies, whole realms, even."

Here he gave me his most winning smile, which secretly made my fangirl's heart flutter.

"Your secret is safe with me."


	4. Elusive Magic

"Then again, there is the manner of my fee," he casually mentioned, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head. My face immediately dropped into my best are-you-kidding-me look.

"You're kidding?" I drawled flatly. He shrugged unhelpfully at me.

"What self-respecting god would save a mortal of no consequence for free?" he pointed out. "Of course, your human currency will be no good to me. What do you have to offer? Why should I care?"

I sighed uglily, hitting my forehead on the countertop. That was exactly what I was thinking. I should've known, in all logic, but I was about as logical as a puppy that isn't walked enough. Finally I looked up, smiling deceptively.

"I've got something," I said breezily. Loki smirked at me because he knew I was bluffing, but the look in his eyes gave away a spark of faith.

"What could you possibly have to interest me?" he scoffed. I raised my eyebrows in a your-loss kind of expression.

"Magic," I purred tantalizingly. "The strongest, most elusive kind. Common as dirt, too. But even for the wisest sages, it often hides under their noses for decades. Centuries, even, depending on the sage."

"What do you know of magic?" he challenged skeptically. "I've been a scholar all my life, which is laughably longer than yours. I know every kind. No such arcane style of your description exists."

"Then turn me in," I offered nonchalantly, leaning back smugly. "If you're not interested, then don't bother covering me up. Go find someone else to teach it to you...maybe Gandalf? Wait, no, he perished fighting a balrog. Who else studied that magic? Twilight? Odin forbid...who knows where she is by now! Last I heard of her she was on a crazy crusade to Vanirheim, said she'd had a breakthrough. No one's seen her since...and that was, oh, how many decades ago?"

"I get it," interrupted Loki testily, glaring at me to let me know that he was not happy with me in the slightest. "I take it you're the only living student of this...mystery magic?"

"Student? I wish," I corrected, rolling my eyes in a secretly sad way. "I don't have a drop of magic in me-except for the werewolf part, of course, but obviously that kind of magic isn't consciously harnessable. But yes, I was close to the late Twilight Sparkle, who was the furthest pioneer in this particular strain of magic. If anyone can teach you, it's me."

Loki narrowed his eyes at me for a long time, trying to penetrate my poker face as deeply as he could before following up on my claim. Well, it wasn't really a con; as you will see, I indeed knew of an 'elusive magic.' But Loki was quite possibly the least qualified person to figure it out...unless I could change him.

That's the stupidest idea I've ever thought, and that's saying something. How could I change a god for the sake of studying a fake magic? Well, not technically god, just hyperadvanced alien race. But same difference: I was conning myself further and further. When the kriff would I be sober enough to quit?

Finally, he nodded at me.

"I believe you," he said blankly.

"Class begins as soon as I get out of this mess," I informed with a slightly nervous smile. I wondered if he noticed my tenseness at lying. "Which would be?"

"...you're asking me?" clarified Loki. I nodded, tilting my head at him as if that was a problem. Now it was his turn to run his are-you-kidding-me face.

"I thought you had a plan!" he hissed. I shrugged sheepishly.

"I'll think of something!" I excused. In all factuality, it was highly unlikely that I would, and he knew that as well as I did.

"Okay, sure," he agreed sarcastically. I could literally see a storm brewing in his expression. "Probably something involving 'unicorns,' and 'fairies,' and all sorts of nonsense that you made up. I can't wait."

"Good, 'cause I'll need your help!" I blurted cheerily. He narrowed his eyes at me again-he tends to do that a lot when he's confused but doesn't want to show it. "And yes, it might involve fairies, if Foaly doesn't have too much on his plate. Unicorns are extinct, by the way-or so I've heard. Anyway, I've got a theory, but I don't know if it's one hundred percent sound. Plus, I'm not smart enough to conjure an equation to express it. Well, equate it. Expressions are totally different. Maybe I could rope Stark into it? Or maybe even Banner...no, definitely Banner. He's got way more experience in this kind of-"

"What the $*# are you thinking?" he interjected, probably confused as anything with my aimless rant. I winked at him. Doubtless he wanted me to continue, but just then, in walked my soon-to-be least favorite person: Director Nick Fury.


	5. Class Starts Now

"As you well know, we caught your entire conversation on tape," began Fury deliberately. Loki had been removed from the premises, so now it was just us two again. In the glare of the lights overhead, it was almost painful to look directly at his chrome dome. "We have diverted sufficient information from it to determine that you are, in fact, a threat to S.H.I.E.L.D. and its objectives."

I nodded comprehensively, while on the inside I was freaking out again. How was I supposed to react to this right when I had no idea what S.H.I.E.L.D. really saw? It was up to my own improv skills. I determined that I should let Fury talk-perhaps I could pick something up.

"You are obliged to know what we plan on doing with you," he informed formally. I don't like formal things, did you know that? "Until further notice, you are denied contact with the outside world. You are to be detained on this vessel, and your acquaintances will be fed a believable cover-up story."

"Bought from Teddy's Story Joint, I presume?" I quipped, quoting a Studio C skit. Fury stared at me blankly for a long moment, then continued as if I hadn't said anything.

"But because of your rocky relationship with your ex-boss," he said carefully. That told me something: apparently me and Loki didn't get along. Or at least, according to S.H.I.E.L.D. "we are prepared to offer you an alternative. Rather than accept his offer to return to work with him as a general consultant and recruiting agent, S.H.I.E.L.D. has an opening as a supernatural consultant."

"Go on?" I drawled business-like, cocking an eyebrow to indicate that I was interested. Sighing at me and rolling his eyes, Nick nonetheless did carry on.

"There are a lot of things about the 'Nine Realms' and so-called 'magical affairs' that we don't know," he explained. "From what we caught between you and Loki, you know quite a bit about these particular subjects. If you are as valuable to Loki as he makes you out to be, then we want you, too."

"I accept," I said blatantly. Fury raised his eyebrows at me, as if he hadn't expected me to immediately jump at an opportunity to work with the most amazing troop of superheroes in the known galaxy. "...what? Loki's weird. He's a bit of a jerk, too. Something about family trauma, or summat. In any case, I'd prefer to work in a more, ah...controlled environment. Not micro-managed, mind you. Controlled."

"Wise decision," he stated evenly. "You will be working with Tony Stark and Dr. Bruce Banner, on anything from predicting supernatural phenomena to basic work with quantum physics. Don't give me that look, I said basic. If there's anything you need to make our lives easier, just talk to us. Class starts now."

He nodded at the door, which I took as an invitation to leave the room. I swirled out of my chair none too gracefully, faux-glaring at Fury in an attempt to reassert myself. All I got from Fury was yet another eyeroll, so I just kept a-goin' out the door and into the hallway. I had no clue where my new coworkers were, but I didn't feel all that concerned. I just walked along, humming the Russian Pinkie's Brew song again. In fact, I did somehow find my new office by a trick of fate-it happened to be smoking.

Tony stumbled out the door, spluttering as he was followed by billowing clouds of blue-gray smoke that fogged his heavy-duty nerd goggles. He was closely followed by none other than Bruce Banner, wearing a similar set of eyewear, which almost gave me another fangirl seizure had these two heros not been in a potentially threatening situation. I put my face to the wall-window, trying to see through it, but all I saw were the flowing puffs of smoke. I mildly noticed that it was suddenly unbearably hot, a lot like my hometown in the summer. The two backed out of its way as it sank lower to the floor, like something out of a fog machine. Tony noticed me, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"You?" he echoed in disbelief. Bruce waved away smoke, eyeing me. I shrugged sheepishly.

"Who's she?" asked Banner, a little lost.

"Your new partner-in-crime," I introduced, unable to resist smiling to myself. "or partner-against-crime, I guess. Of the massive-scale sort, I can only assume. What awesome secret agency has time for small-timers like Al Capone, am I right?"

"Back up!" snapped Tony when a wisp of smoke got dangerously close to my face. I obeyed at the tone in his voice, asking him why with a look in my eye. "That's nitrous oxide at 450 degrees Kelvin. That laughing gas will fry your lungs."

"What's causing it?" I asked, mentally tossing regard for my own safety in my mind-dustbin. My brain secretary shrieked at this, but I'd learned by now to ignore her in times like this. Which is surprising, considering that I'm not awesome enough to find myself in situations like this very often.

"There's a foaming beaker full of nitro in there that's unplugged," explained Banner before Tony could tell him to shut up. "Its reaction with the oxygen can only be stopped by the pH-neutral seal-which _someone_ decided to putz around with." added Banner hotly, glaring at Tony. When he shrugged at Bruce, I noticed something clutched in his right hand. Bingo-that must be the seal.

I took the sweater tied around my waist and fixed it around my face, obscuring my features from the nose down. Both nerds recognized the look in my eye, undoubtedly because it had been found in people like Captain America. Neither liked it.

"No!" they reprimanded simultaneously. I obviously ignored them.

"I've done worse," I lied.

Acting fast before I lost my nerve, I rushed Tony with a surety I didn't know I possessed and seized his wrist. Angling it so that Tony lost his leverage, I wrenched it out of his hand and stole his goggles. My face burning with embarrassment at having assaulted _the_ one and only Iron Man, I strapped the goggles on whilst running into the murk, tuning out the yells that chased after me.

First thing I did was smack the control panel, shutting the door behind me so that the nitrous oxide wouldn't continue spilling into the hallway. Tony wasn't kidding when he said 450 Kelvin-I immediately felt unbearably hot. I still tasted a faint sweetness in the air; my sweater couldn't have been completely airtight, in hindsight, but it helped. If it hadn't, I would be doubled over laughing until my lungs burned out. Literally. I took careful steps forward, waving the nitro away, trying to see through the fog and find that beaker-

"D'arvit!" I cursed as I tripped on some invisible something, my swear clipped short as the bridge of Tony's goggles collided with what must have been a table. Rubbing my sore nose, I heard something rolling around, glass by the sound of it. The beaker. Backtracking on my hands and knees, I caught a glimmer of glass reflecting what little light remained in the room. I yanked at it, but I slipped again, the tile floor burning against me from the heat of the gas. I scrambled up again, trying to stifle the convulsions in my lungs that made me want to burst out laughing and waste precious air. I never thought I could ever say this, but now was definitely _not _the time to have one of my can't-shut-up-or-quit-laughing moments. I had to find that beaker. This place was much worse than I'd originally made it out to be. Maybe I hadn't done worse. Maybe this was the worst I would ever do. Maybe this was the _last_ I would ever do.

But I couldn't think about that right now.

There-the beaker.

I literally pounced on it, thanking Asgard above that it didn't shatter under my impact. I took a final deep breath, sensing the lack of oxygen in the room and knowing I didn't have long. I fumbled the conic beaker, the seal sticky in my sweaty hand. As spots swam before my vision, I somehow worked the edges of the seal over the lip of the glass, watching numbly as the gray fizzing within ceased.

As if my consciousness had left my body and its tattered lungs, I watched myself collapse, the beaker rolling out of my hand. The smoke began to clear out, sucked up through air vents revealed on the ceiling. What idiot hadn't thought of that sooner? The door opened in slow motion as I watched through fluttering eyes and fading state of mind.

And then nothing.


	6. She's Something

Vision slowly returns to me. Slowly. Slooooooooowwwwwwwwlyyyyyyyy. Dejá vu.

I groan sleepily, rolling over and adjusting my scratchy blanket. No, it's not the blanket that's scratchy-I'm still wearing jeans and a thick t-shirt. The memories of my existence get through to me like a searchlight penetrating through deep fog. I force my eyes open, flinching a little at the glare of the white walls. Overwhelmed by the brightness, my eyes come to rest on the only thing that wasn't painful to look at: Loki, sitting in a chair in the corner with an unfathomable look in his eye.

Wait, what?

"_Loki?_" I murmur to myself, lifting my head in query. Raising his eyebrows slightly, he puts his finger to his lips, asking me to be silent. I don't know what he means until Tony walks in. Oh. Duh.

"You've got guts, kid," compliments Stark, an amber drink in one hand as he points at me in a mildly accusatory manner. "I'll give you that. But not much else. Guts get you killed without brains to control 'em."

"Brains? C'mon," I retort humbly, propping myself up on one elbow and rubbing the back of my head. "brains are for normal people. Which means not me."

"If brains are for normal people, then that would make me an airhead, too," replies Tony with a wry smile. He takes the chair on the other side of my bed, ignoring the chair that Loki's occupying by some weird trick of the mind. "The great Tony Stark is many things, but normal is not one of them. Normal's barely theoretical, at that."

"_Right?_" I agree, throwing my hand in the air in exasperation. "Normal's not just theoretical, it's a _lie!_ The human race is so vast and multivariabled that there's no possible way to calculate an average. Unless you're talking medical averages, in which case...well, whatever. Then you have an excuse to be annoyingly precise like that. The arts are like that, too-not precise, multivariabled."

"Is 'multivariabled' even a word?" asks Tony, cocking an eyebrow at me and taking a sip of his presumably alcoholic beverage. I shrugged and rolled my eyes at the ceiling, pulling my smile into a pleasantly confused drawl. I call it my 'Who knows?' face.

"Who knows?" I dismiss. See what I mean?

Okay, pause. You know how I've been meeting celebrity after celebrity on this Helicarrier? First Nick Fury, then Tony, Loki, etc., etc.? At this rate the only Avengers I haven't met so far are Thor and Captain America. The latter of which waltzes through the door right then. Well, 'waltzes' isn't the best word. He marches. Even I, a girl who tends to lean towards 'bad boys,' have to admit that Agent Rogers is pretty amazing up close.

"So this is the 'mini-me' who put herself over the wire," he says fondly, smiling. Wow, he is not _nearly_ as dorky as I thought he was. I curl myself into a sitting position, noting that the action took way too much out of me than it should have.

"Although she probably should've just cut the wire," mumbles Tony under his breath. I laugh a little at the inside joke, but it quickly degenerates into a coughing series that reminds me of Darth Vader. I finally straighten and take a deep breath, but I still feel winded.

"If you think that's bad, that's nothing," scoffs Tony. I think he's referring to what he's been through, but when he goes on I'm proved wrong. "Statistically, you could've been dead. You got so oxygen-deprived that your lungs almost shut down."

"That sounds fun," I say to myself, squinting my eyes shut at the image conjured up by my grotesque subconscious. "But that _didn't_ happen, right?"

"If it did, you _would_ be dead. Not just could," corrected Cap. Beaming at me and leaning over a little, he offers me a hand. "In case you couldn't tell from the retro outfit, I'm Steve Rogers. Alias Captain America."

"Wow," I squeak to myself, smiling giddily as I shake his hand. Loki rolls his eyes at me, but I would've retaliated somehow if it didn't mean that I would look like a loon in front of two Avengers. "It's an honor. Really, it is. I never imagined I'd be in cahoots with the likes of you...oh, and 'mini-me?'"

"The only other person I know who would've done something that stupid is this guy," drawls Tony, jabbing a thumb at Rogers. Steve gently kicks him in the shins, drawing clipped laughter from Stark. "so naturally, he's the first person I thought of when you pulled that stunt."

"That's odd," I muse to myself, gazing off into the middle distance. "I never really pictured myself as Captain America. Although I suppose I should've seen that coming-I remember one time when I took an Avengers personality quiz, I tied between you two."

_That_ sure gets a reaction. They both laugh, which makes me laugh, too. I wonder why.

"Best of both worlds, eh?" chuckles Tony. I glare at him, scowling at the Miley Cyrus reference.

"Do _not_ mention that song to me," I growl threateningly. Stark raises his eyebrows in mock fear, which I resent in some dark corner of my soul. "or that singer, for that matter. Or Bieber. Or 1D."

"What can we mention?" asks Tony sarcastically. I shrug again. I rather like shrugging. I also like the lost look on Steve's face while we talked about pop music.

"Most other music is acceptable," I answer, going through my mental list of do-not-want artists. "As long as it's not overplayed or vulgar. Oh yeah, and it should probably sound good, too. That's kind of the point of music, y'know."

"She's somethin', ain't she, Cap?" observed Tony, smiling distantly. I look from one to the other, suddenly terrified that I might be rejected. That's a weird feeling for me-I was never really afraid of that kind of thing. I was never an outcast, or a weirdo...at least, not in a sense that I cared for. But now I didn't know how long I would be here, or how my life would turn out from this point. I realized the gravity of Nick's statement with a grim sense of finality. I felt a pang of fear, a pang that grew into a hollow ringing in my chest that I wanted to silence. _Needed._

Please?

"She is, Tony," agreed Steve, beaming warmly. "That she is."


	7. On With the Show

Next morning I could finally get up out of bed-something that I anticipated, for once. Weird, I know. I wandered the halls for a moment, mentally recalling my steps in my head the way I would familiarize myself with a new map in a shooter game or something. I ceased my exploring when I bumped into my office, however, so that I wouldn't have to try and find it again if I kept going.

When I poked my head through the door, Bruce Banner smiled and waved. So. Much. Awesome.

"Hey," he greeted. I pulled my shoulders up bashfully, walking inside and gracefully swerving around Tony as he carried a hissing vial of somethinrather to another table with a pair of tongs. "you're that new kid that plugged up the beaker. I'm Bruce."

"Hi," I responded, though the word came out almost as a squeak. Every minute I spent with these walking wonders was a minute I made a mental note to pinch myself. "I'm Kinners. Exotic, flavorful, downright weird-I get that. No biggie."

"I think it's a pretty name," stated Bruce, with a tinge of defensiveness. I blinked at him.

"Oh," I said finally. "you're talking about the_ name,_ 'Kinners.' No, I was referring to myself. You don't still think _that's_ pretty, do you?"

Bruce laughed, which just served to turn my face the shade of a tomato. But the sound had a certain husky-yet-sad hollowness to it, something that reminded me of Loki's voice in a weird way.

"Bit of a smart-$# , and a dumb-$# , too, but I guess she's fine," observed Tony nonchalantly as he brisked past. I gave him a narrow-eyed glare, but I knew he didn't mean it, so I didn't really mind; public school does that kind of desensitizing to you. "But a word of warning, kid-if you turn out to be a klutz, you're out. Klutzes cause problems. Big ones. Capiche?"

"Capiche," I replied lazily, rolling my eyes. Being a teenager, you can't say that I don't have attitude. I just don't express it at every possible waking moment like some people do. "So. ...what do I do?"

"Tell us what you know, basically," called Tony from across the room, shattering the vial in a sink along the wall and sending its remains down the garbage disposal with enough water to drown a whale. "about anything S.H.I.E.L.D. knows nothing about. That's what 'consultant' means. 'Supernatural' means 'previously supposed to be fictitious,' and you can guess what that means."

"Werewolves, vampires, the _whole shebang?_" I inquired, cocking an eyebrow as if the 'whole shebang' were about as long and complex as the entire storyline of Doctor Who. Tony sighed and glared into his eyebrows, obviously a nonbeliever. Bruce was a little more open-minded, shrugging mildly.

"If it exists, we want to hear about it," he clarified neutrally. I scowled a little, as if that really didn't help. Which was true, in a sense-what will they believe, and what will they eventually discover to be false? In other words, what's pushing it, and what isn't?

"It's still a lot," I lamented, frowning at the tabletop. I read somewhere that you can actually discover a liar if they go to pains to make eye contact, so I just figured that to lie well you have to underact. "and judging by the look on Tony's face, there's no way in Helheim you're going to believe me. But I'll do what I can; you can take a horse to water, but you can't make 'im drink."

"Makes sense," mused Tony to himself. Obviously he wasn't happy with this particular batch of sense, but Bruce was indifferent, pulling up a fancy holo-touch-screen that made my hand-me-down Macbook look like a twig and a rock held together with a daisy chain.

"If you speak into here, it'll record your voice," he informed, pulling up what looked like a text document and a blinking type-bar-thing. I still don't know what that thing at the end of your words is called. "We'll also get a translation typed down as you talk, as a precaution. If a virus that attacks text files eats the translation, we still have the audio, and vice versa."

"Although any hacker worth his gigs will have a virus that attacks _both_, if at all," muttered Tony to himself.

"Shut up, Tony," commanded Bruce. Despite his undeniable genius-millionaire-playboy-philanthropist swag, I found myself liking Tony less and less. If you need a comparison of how bad it was, I was mentally filing him into the same category as a middle-school male.

"So, how does this-_wow,_ that's cool!" I interjected with a grin, watching my words made manifest on the screen as the audio receptor spiked like a cardiograph. "Take _that,_ Siri! Has Bill Gates seen this? I think he'd have a fit. Well, no, if anyone, Steve Jobs. But he's kinda dead, so-"

"Just talk, already," snapped Tony irritably. I snorted a little, pouting.

"Fine," I grumbled. I took a deep breath, managed to prevent myself from having a breakdown, and spoke. Word of warning-this next bit is basically 50% of the chapter and 100% dialogue.

"Okay," I began deliberately, squinting slightly as if struggling to recall. "For starters, I can tell you lots about werewolves. I _am_ one. Number One: they are _nothing_ like the nonsense from Twilight. They only shift on a full moon, and unless you've seen them go wolf, there's no way of telling if someone's a werewolf that I know of. Half of the old Dark Ages nonsense you hear is superstitious hogwash. From what I know, they originated in Europe and maybe even spread a little into Russia, and from there they went to the new world with everyone else and started biting more people. And yes, that's the only way to become a werewolf-getting bitten and living. Not killing a wolf and wearing its skin, not jumping over a tree and chanting latin gibberish, not signing a pact with a wolf-god or the devil. Again, lots of hogwash."

"If werewolves exist, why don't we know about it?" asked Bruce with a tinge of skepticism. I couldn't blame him, though-any scientist worth his salt would have to get a decent explanation before supporting a theory. After all, who would simply accept String Theory for the heck of it? Not a true scientist. They don't run on faith.

"There's a lot of reasons," I explained with a tinge of sadness, shrugging offhandedly. "After the industrial revolution, people started getting smarter about how to defend themselves-or even go a little further, if you catch my drift. It got harder and harder for werewolves to spread their numbers, and at the same time weapons with the capacity to kill werewolves became more common to the public. The ones that did survive were the ones that could really rip the hide off of you, so when those ones attacked people, there weren't as many survivors to carry on the werewolf virus...thing. I have no clue if it's actually a virus or what. By the time I was bitten, werewolves were almost extinct. I could be one of the last by now."

"Well, when _were_ you bitten?" pressed Bruce. I picked a date off the top of my head, one that wouldn't make me look super old but not as young as I looked, either.

"1996," I replied. "October or September, I think, one of the two. It was so long ago, I can't remember very well. I know, I know, I look super young and I act the part too, but I'm not. I can't be. I was pretty young when I was bitten-only about six or something. My parents did what they could to conceal the truth, keeping me inside on full moons, etc., but I found out five years later when I almost went wolf at a summer camp."

"But that doesn't make any sense," pointed out Tony, jabbing an accusatory finger at me. "Why did you age normally until then, but supposedly you've looked like this for a decade? That doesn't add up."

"It wasn't becoming a werewolf that affected my aging process," I corrected, my tone degenerating into a sciencey drawl. "It does for some people, depending on what strain of wolf they are or even how their genetic makeup reacts with the transformative process. To this day I don't know why I appeared to freeze in time for ten years. I seem to remember okay...until I get into details."

I tensed up a little, because I was running out of material and I had to come up with more fast or it would be obvious that I was lying. But in hindsight, it could also be interpreted as fear for my own false situation. If that was the case, I could very well have bought myself some time, but I also could have warranted a more thorough search into my past that could uncover the truth. Oh, well-on with the show.

"What about this transformative process you've told us about?" inquired Tony, appearing to believe me...for now. Good. I kept talking, proceeding to tell them all I 'knew' about werewolves. But eventually it degenerated into small talk and playful chatter, and we were swapping stories like old friends. I felt integrated, like I had known these guys all my life and they were my closest friends. But at the same time, I remembered the friends I'd had before I knew them, and I felt a lonely pang in my heart. Nobody could _really_ replace them, no matter how awesome. And I really missed them more than I'd realized.

Turns out, I wasn't the only lonely soul on board.


	8. No Hugs

Next day I woke up-and _couldn't find anyone._

My quarters weren't way at the outskirts of the place, but they weren't right in the middle of everything either. Even so, the only workers I saw as I wandered the halls were strangers, agents with distant looks in their eyes and cold resolve in their walk. Banner, Stark, Rogers...they were all gone. Nobody was home.

Which is where we pick up at the present. I collapsed on my bed, sighing gutturally as emotionally-stressed teenagers are wont to do. I was so _bored._ And since Fury had confiscated my phone and made sure that the room was devoid of computers that my poor brain could feasibly work with, there was no way I could reach my friends to tell them the truth. Or at least _talk_ to them.

I rolled over and buried my face in a pillow with yet another groan. I felt so alone, and for a girl that's always in touch with friends and family and loves them to bits, that's the worst feeling in the universe. I had no idea how long this would last, either. I'm a little bit OCD about time, always keeping track of how long a song is so that I'll know exactly what time it is when it's over, or whatever. But lying there with my face in the fuzz, I lost my sense of time for a horrible moment. I lost my sense of _everything._ I just moaned to myself in my head, pining for comfort from this nihilistic depression.

Anything but this.

"It's Saturday."

I lifted my head suddenly with a confused grunt. I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep-that would explain my short-lived existential crisis. I looked to my right, saw nothing, looked to the left, and saw yet more nothing. Rolling over on my back and leaning up a little, I saw the owner of the voice leaning in the doorframe, severely backlit in comparison to my darkened room. Loki. I was surprisingly nonplussed, partially because I'd been detached from the concept of reality for a while now.

"That's why nobody's here," he explained. His voice was quiet, and pretty neutral, which was a new thing for me. When I'd first met him, he always had some sort of negative emotion about him. Sarcastic, confused, just plain irritated-pick a card, any card. But this time he had a stone poker face, blank as blank can be. Well, not quite blank...just empty in a weird way. Like how I'd felt moments ago.

"Oh," I said dumbly. I pulled myself into a cross-legged sit, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "That makes sense. Probably why I didn't think of it."

A shadow of a smile crossed his face, but Loki didn't laugh. At all. The expression just made him look even sadder somehow. That didn't help my mood. I liked to make people happy, liked to brighten up their lives if only for a moment. But try as I might, I couldn't extend that joy to him. _That's_ a first.

"What's your deal?" I asked finally. When I thought about it hard enough (which I didn't do about most things), it didn't really make sense for Loki to just show up on my doorstep just as I had an emotional low. It was just like he said: why should _he_ care?

"Same as you, really," he lamented with a small shrug and a long blink. "I'm bored. I don't know what to do with myself. As you can see, I know how to escape-not just my own cell, but the whole helicarrier if need be. But there isn't really a need anymore. According to Asgard, and most of the other realms, I'm dead."

I was about to ask why, then remembered the events of _The Dark World._ Nevermind. "You're bored? You could do anything. You could write editorials at a cafe, or watch Doctor Who marathons, or live on the beach poking at anemones. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"You think I'd _like_ living here?" he questioned, eyes narrowing in displeasure. I cringed inwardly-I was just trying to help, after all. "Scraping out an existence in this backwater loop you call Midgard? I've seen true purpose. This is pathetic."

"Okay, okay," I murmured, pouting a little to let him know that he'd hurt my feelings. "Take it easy, man. You can like or dislike what you want, but some people have to live with what we have here. And _they_ do just fine."

Loki looked away, spite written on his face in unpleasant lines. But there was also a bitter taste somewhere in there, a taste that had made him who he was...and who he couldn't be. I felt a surge of sympathy for him, which of course was absolutely ridiculous. Undoubtedly he'd tell me to save my sympathy for someone who needs it, and none too sweetly either. While I'd always dreamed of being friends with someone so amazing, it was harder than I'd thought it'd be.

W-wo-woa-woah wait.

_Friends?_

"I don't get it," murmured Loki finally.

I looked up again, moved by the simplicity of statement. He was staring at the side of the doorjamb, lost in thought. Sorrowful thought, judging by the empty pain in his eyes. I understood him in a flash of insight, understood why he wasn't motivated to do anything. He had all the power in the world, but he was so miserable inside that he didn't have the slightest clue what to do with himself.

"Don't get what?" I asked, rolling my legs over the side of the bed. I had a feeling that I didn't need to ask. His reply was so quiet I almost didn't catch it.

"I don't understand how happy you are," he said softly. His eyes were even worse now, like the whole plot of _Les Miserables _contained in one heartbreaking look. "You're clever, clever enough surely to realize how futile life is. Even when I shouldn't even have it, it plagues me like a shadow. It won't let go of me, no matter what I try."

A song rang in my head-Bad Apple. _And I wish that I could live, feeling nothing but the night._ As cheesy as it sounds, Loki needed someone to help him.

Whether he liked it or not.

"I'll make you a deal," I stated, making things up as I go as I am wont to do around here. "You're bored, and I'm lonely. To be frank, so am I, and so are you."

Loki gave me a toxic look that reminded me of a teenager being woken up early on a Saturday.

"Don't give me that look," I retorted, narrowing my eyes in my own dragon glare. "God of Mischief or no, you're human to some degree. And humans and Asgardians alike are pack animals. In order to be psychologically stable, we require periodic if not constant proximity to biological beings with whom we share certain traits."

"You're ridiculous," he snapped, trying to assert himself in a battle he knew he was losing. I shrugged off the insult.

"It's a personality quirk," I dismissed offhandedly. "Anyway, what if we could give each other what we wanted? What if we could...I don't know, hang out, maybe?"

The world froze for a moment. Loki looked at me like I had just told him his mom was still alive.

"You're not serious."

"Most of the time, you'd be right. But yes, I am."

"Who do you think you are? Some sort of ambassador, on a crusade to save the world one soul at a time?"

"It's called _friendship._ And in case you're wondering, it has something to do with that magic I was telling you about, so deal or no deal?"

A long pause. Really long. My heart hurt, it was pounding so.

"Fine." he stated finally. I felt a Pinkie Pie-esque surge of joy, one that _was_ in fact totally ridiculous. And then I hugged him.

Apparently Loki doesn't do hugs, because first he tensed up, and then he convulsed like I'd bitten him or something. I let go of him because he was seriously freaking out, so he backed away and took a stance akin to that of someone facing a bear. Someone with absolutely no experience with bears. His eyes were wide with equal parts compulsive fear and utter disbelief, plus a dash of indignance, which I thought was a little funny. That, or I was just completely bonkers during that moment. I snickered a little at him. He blinked several times as if to wash away that look on his face, moving his mouth silently like he was still figuring out what to say, and then resolved on a glare and an accusatory index finger.

"_No hugs._" he commanded slowly, deliberately. I laughed even harder. He sighed angrily at me, trying to glare harder. That worked about as well as trying to conduct electricity through pure, Ion-free water. I rolled my eyes at him.

"Fine, no hugs," I relented. He took a deep breath, straightening up. He reminded me of an actor of sorts, re-psyching himself.

"Oh," I said out loud, recalling my predicament. "Speaking of acting...I probably need help."

Then Loki rolled his eyes at _me._


	9. Makes Sense

"Alright," Loki relented finally, leaning back in his seat. "Lie to me."

"Well, I can't seem to stop watching Sherlock," I lied. Having only seen the first two episodes, I hadn't fallen that hard yet for the series-but given that it was written by Steven Moffat, I knew that I was about to, so it might as well be true. Would he fall for a half-lie?

"You don't even have a television anymore," he scoffed. "Try again."

"You're the worst," I snapped, rolling my eyes. "Freaking. Impossible. You."

"Don't believe that, either," he said nonchalantly. "Again."

"Ugh!" I snarled, hitting my forehead on the table. If Tony hadn't walked in, I would've devoured him then and there.

"What're you doin'?" he asked, the briskness of his statement making me suspicious.

"Composing for Broadway," I growled sarcastically. Believe _that._ "What're you doin'?"

Tony blinked, frowning to himself as if he'd forgotten something. "Nothing," he replied. "I just...it's the weekend. Shouldn't you be...I don't know, sleeping or something?"

"You have a point," I lamented. "I do love to sleep...ah, _ah!_ Don't you take that the wrong way. I know your type-"

"Oh, you walked into that one," laughed Tony, still reeling from my unintended dirty joke. "Admit it."

"Admitted," I lied with a shrug. He made like he was going to sit down on top of Loki, but didn't. How did that blasted god do that?

"Oh,_ that's_ what I was going to tell you," Tony said to himself, as if remembering the most obvious thing in the world. I know_ that_ feeling. "Tell me, kid, can you play cards?"

"Depends what game," I said carefully. "I can definitely play fast games like Speed and Slapjack, but I'm guessing you're talking about Blackjack or Poker. I'm less good at those."

"Yeah, yeah," he affirmed. "Poker. Saturday nights we play cards. Mostly poker, 'cause it's one of the only things that's old enough for Capscicle to know. But occasionally others...what's Speed?"

"I'll show ya," I offered with a smile I hoped wasn't too scary. I'm a bit of a card shark, depending on who you ask. I pulled a deck of cards out of my pocket-c'mon, who_ doesn't_ walk around with playing cards in their pocket?-and gave my seat to Tony, opting to stand up on the other side of the table. This game is too fast to sit down while playing, anyway, and Loki didn't appear to want to get up.

"The only thing that matters in this game is numbers," I explained as I shuffled. Tony set his beer down, watching me intently. "There are two cards in the middle, with two piles of five on the outsides," I demonstrated as I dealt them out. It took focus to deal out the remaining cards between me and Tony while talking. "The rest are dealt out between us. At the same time, we'll flip over the two cards in the middle. You play on those two with cards from your hand, which should always have five cards, based on number. For example, if one of these two is a seven, you can play a six or an eight on that. And yes, it's totally legal to play something like six-seven-six. King loops around to ace. Suit doesn't matter. First one to get rid of their pile wins. Got it?"

"I'll figure it out," shrugged Tony nonchalantly. I had the feeling that he wasn't really paying attention, despite his avid look. He drew five cards, arranged them like the genius I should've known he was, apparently struggling to ignore the fact that I had done so already. I put my hand on one of the middle cards, staring at Tony. When he stared back with no apparent reaction, I was forced into actual dialogue. Ugh. Noob.

"Ready?" I asked, more to say the word than anything. He put his hand on the other card.

"&amp;$# right I am." he replied. We flipped the cards.

No, he wasn't. Not as much as I was, anyway.

What flipped over was a jack of diamonds and a seven of clubs. What could've happened was that the elaborate art could've thrown off Tony for a fraction of a second, because it takes a smidgen more mental processing to register the royalty cards than the numbers. Or his brain wasted energy computing the suit, rather than cutting to the chase. Which you need to do in this game. I was lucky enough to have a nice straight. Playing one card at a time yet with reflexive speed, I laid down queen-king-ace.

Tony swore as I drew more cards, then put down an eight on the seven. Just what I needed-I followed up with a nine, a ten and a jack. I hadn't played the jack straight on that queen earlier simply on base instinct. Sometimes you have to guess like that, and sometimes it turns out sour. He responded with another queen, which I topped with yet another jack. On and on we went, slapping cards down back and forth, our piles disappearing rapidly. Finally, we were both stuck with cards in our hands. I had four in mine, he had three.

A two and a five in the middle. Useless to apparently both of us.

I put my hand on one of the side piles, waiting for Tony to quit his swearing and flip a card on the other pile.

We flipped. Five and two again.

We flipped. Nine and six. So close, yet so far. Tony played a five and a six, so fast I couldn't do anything about it. He's getting better.

We flipped. Seven and a king.

I played an ace on the king before Tony could lay down his last queen, then played my last three cards on the seven. Six five four.

"Speed." I blurted.

Tony swore and smacked the table, throwing his last card down. I couldn't help myself from giggling. It's not that I'm an addicted winner, it's just that the reactions are always priceless. Honestly, how am I supposed to keep a straight face while Iron Man is ragequitting at a silly card game?

"You can play, all right," sighed Tony in defeat, picking up his drink and beginning to walk out. "We'll be expecting you tonight. 8:30. The room with the lights on and ACDC blasting through the speakers."

"See you then," I farewelled as the door automatically slid shut behind him. I looked at Loki, who had been watching me the whole time. His face was unfathomable.

"Looks like you made a friend," observed Loki coolly. He said it with a barely-there tinge of sarcasm that let me know that he was secretly jealous about it, bitter even. He didn't seem to realize that not all friendships were created equal. Tony had the maturity of an eighth grader and the tact of Han Solo. Loki had the maturity of a senior and the tact of Sherlock Holmes.

I snorted at myself and dropped my head to the table.

"What's so funny?" he asked with a mild shake of his head, as if there was no such thing as funny and I had absolutely no reason for mirth.

"If I knew, it wouldn't be ridiculous anymore," I said blankly, like that made the most sense in the world.

"Makes sense," he admitted with a slight shrug, opting to look at a wall. I smirked.

"Liar," I purred.

* * *

Untying my jacket from around my waist, I put it on and zipped it up against the chill. Apparently whoever ran the helicarrier either didn't know how to turn off the AC or had the cold threshold of an emperor penguin. I even pulled my black fedora down further on my head, as if I could will it to trap more heat. I wish.

As I followed the sound of 'Back in Black,' I thought to myself that ol' Fury was the one in charge of everything around here. And air temperature fell into the category of 'everything.' Interesting. Was he secretly a polar bear? Perhaps a _were-bear?_

I poked my head in the door, eyes intentionally wild. I stared at the assembled S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, counting all six with a pang of fear in my chest. Well, all except for Thor. That would've been awkward-I didn't know how well I would be able to go along with the whole dead-Loki coverup, being one of his only friends and all. They stared back with emotionless poker faces as I pondered which one would be the best to strike up some spontaneous improv with. Probably Tony. He had his faults, but he knew how to play along.

"Tony! Do you have the duck?" I hissed, bugging out my own eyes and furrowing my brows as if this were the most important sentence of my life. He blinked blankly at me. Inclining my head slightly, I raised my eyebrows and stared harder. Finally it clicked with him that I wasn't actually talking about a real thing. Took him a whole three point five seconds.

"Oh, the duck," he replied with a slight smile. "'Course I have the duck. What kinda idiot do ya take me for?"

"Good," I affirmed, walking in and taking the only free chair around the circular poker table. Everyone was still staring at me, except Tony, who was arranging his cards. I could feel their eyes on me like red scope-lasers. I took a deep breath so that I wouldn't explode into some embarrassing gibberish. They were still staring. Bruce dealt me in with two cards, and I picked up a two of hearts and a five of clubs.

"Zippy-da-freakin' doo dah," I muttered to myself. Worst. Hand. Ever. "Wait, is this poker or blackjack?"

"Blackjack," informed Hawkeye. Man, this is _so cool!_ I couldn't read his face, partially because I'm a tactical idiot and partially because he was wearing sunglasses. The eyes are the windows to the soul, after all. If mine can't decide what color they are, does that mean I have multiple souls?

"Hm," I responded with a scowl. "Still lame. Oh, well." It actually wasn't too bad, depending on what I got hit with, but why does anyone else need to know that? Regardless of my hand, I was ready to play. With some of the most freaking amazing heroes on the planet.

And then the wall exploded.


	10. Freaking Impossible

My ears ringing from the volume, I did my best to move despite the ache throughout my whole body. The stinging scent of burnt metal made me wish I could shut my nostrils like an aquatic reptile. The force from that explosion must have been some pretty powerful stuff-that or I was just a wuss. I suspect that it was the latter; by the time my eyes had remembered how to focus, everybody was up on their feet already. Captain America and Hawkeye immediately sprang into the swirling smoke, closely followed by Black Widow as she blurted words into her secret ear-comm. Bruce offered me a hand, which I gratefully took. Tony was still on the ground, swearing fit to be a sailor.

"It always has to be poker night!" he snarled, trying to wedge himself out from under a sizeable chunk of wall. I was about to run and help him, but he got it off okay and proceeded to stand. "Why can't anything weird happen while I'm in the suit?"

I knew the feeling. Next to supers like the Avengers, I felt pretty exposed. Exposed? Downright terrified. But I couldn't let a stupid survival mechanism like fear keep me from doing the right thing. After all, that was the quality that made people like these so special.

Bruce put an arm around my shoulders and started leading me to the door, but I shrugged him off. I'd taken worse...nope, that was incorrect yet again. My everywhere hurt. But if I believed it, then I could believe in myself.

I took a deep breath to try and revitalize myself, and inhaled ground drywall for my efforts. Hacking like a cyborg, I nonetheless picked my hat off the shattered floor and repositioned it back on my head. Time to earn my stripes.

Waving away the agitated dust in the air, I stepped through.

The next room reeked even stronger of charred steel, but worse than that was the chemical odor that wafted up from a shattered glass case on the table. I grumbled a nerdy swear and took a corner of the room as far away from the table and the evil scent as possible. The others were crowding around it-lucky skunks. Do they have any idea how bad that smells to a _werewolf's_ nose?

"Bruce, what was in there?" demanded Cap, reeling back from the scent. Interesting. The scientist in question followed us through the hole in the wall, not getting to cough now that the dust had settled.

"Lots of sulfrous oxide in there," he observed, eyes roving over the crime scene. No wonder. "presumably to keep what used to be in there stable. Too bad the glass didn't do its job."

"Take as long as you want to answer his question, by all means," grumbled Hawkeye, scanning the room behind his sunglasses. I felt like I could've been able to track the culprit by scent, but with the reek of the chemicals I couldn't even smell Captain America right next to me. Whoever had done this had been out of here in no time, and left everything spotless. Except for the glass case, of course. Who could pull off such a smooth job? Oh, and where the heck was Tony?

"Probably a chunk of highly reactive metal-" thought Bruce out loud. But what he saw next cut him off midsentence. Within the glass case was a square hole, with steel claws at each corner and side. It was the exact same size to fit…

"The Tesseract," he grimaced. Everybody took the same sudden breath.

"So that's why Director Fury wanted us to play in the room next door," mumbled Steve, running his hand through his hair. I'm fairly certain he earned several sarcastic looks from the room in general.

"_That_ thing again?" I groaned, my voice muffled by my sweater sleeve. Everybody stared at me for a moment, not saying anything. "...what? This room reeks."

"But who would do this?" asked Natasha. Just what I was thinking. "Or who _could_ do this? This must have been done by someone on the inside."

"That's impossible," stated Hawkeye flatly. "You know how tough we are on our agents. Disloyalty isn't in them, any of them. They would have to be immensely influential to persuade one of ours to do this."

Well, time to make myself useful. I went through my mental list of baddies. Dr. Doom, the Master/Mistress, the Riddler, Jim Moriarty…

...oh. Oh no.

"Frick," I snarled, bolting out of the room.

* * *

Obvious. Obvious obvious obvious.

But I hadn't seen it at first, because I didn't want to. I didn't want to believe that he'd abused my friendship and taken advantage of my warmheartedness. I didn't want to believe that he wasn't actually interested in redemption. Overall, I just didn't want to believe any of this had happened. But not believing in something doesn't make it un-happen or turn it untrue. What was _I_ going to do about it?

I slowed down in the hallway, though my footsteps echoed still through the hall. That was an excellent question. I didn't know for sure that it was Loki. There was a chance that he still cared. But as little as I wanted to believe it, there was a greater chance that he had gone and shattered everything. How was I to know the truth without making my position obvious and spurring Loki into lying to protect himself?

Oh. Obvious again.

Taking a deep breath, I took a moment to forget all that had happened in that room. Forget the wall, the cards, the room with the smell. All the rage, all the betrayal, all the hurt feelings that had surfaced along with that realization. I let it all go, floating in my head aimlessly. But I still needed that truth. So I put it away in a drawer, and then rewrote that moment.

I went in to play cards. We played blackjack for a couple rounds, I won once, and then proceeded to poker. I won a little and lost a little, then was destroyed big-time when I tried to bluff out Clint. Basically I was out of the game after that, so we just had some small chat and such. Then, when the wall exploded, I was hit real hard in the leg by a chunk of flying debris, accounting for my right leg limp. Then I decided I was going to head back, since I was feeling a little ignored while everybody continued figuring it out without me.

Yes. That's my story.

I exhaled, continuing to walk on.

I tried to mimic John Watson for my limp, wondering with a mild pang of panic if it was really believable. If anyone were to see through an act, it would be Loki. But on the bright side, my leg wasn't actually disabled. Just wounded...though that sentiment did little to console me.

"Boo."

I whirled so fast I completely forgot my limp and my rewritten game night. &amp;$#.

"_You_!" I snapped, barely remembering that I wasn't supposed to be mad at Loki. In an attempt to save face and my quickly shambling act, I turned away from his smug face and stormed off. He's too good at this, it's not fair.

"I thought we were friends," he called after me, quickening his pace to fall into step beside me. He only added the slightest tinge of hurt tone, using more of a confused voice in the mix to make me feel sorry for him. Freaking. Impossible. Him.

"I thought so, too," I growled, hugging my jacket closer and walking faster. This time he jogged a stride or two to catch up. He tried to bend low over me to get in my face, but I pulled my hat down and refused to look at him. Because in my heart of hearts, I wanted more than anything not to be mad at him.

"What did _I_ do?" he asked indignantly.

That stopped me in my tracks.

He acted so innocent. Like it was no big deal that he had taken advantage of me like that. Like this was exactly the kind of sithspit that friends did to each other. He didn't even ask what was wrong. Because he didn't think anything could be wrong with us, ever, because he thought I could and would just take anything and everything from him, just because I was his friend.

Enough.

"What did you do?" I echoed quietly. I looked right up at him, straight through those all-too-human eyes. "_What did you do?_" I took a step toward him, letting the moment hang in the air before my breakdown. "You did…no, you're right. All you were doing is being yourself, and I should've seen that coming. I should've known that you would...that you _wouldn't_ take this seriously. It's not about you, it never was. You thought it was, even I did. What did _I_ do, however? I'll tell you, since you didn't even bother to comprehend what we could've had. I cared about you. I _trusted_ you! I would've trusted you with anything-my friends, my family, my own life! And you just...you don't even _care!_ I would have gone anywhere with you, and it's like you didn't even notice! I thought I was your friend!"

Silence. His face was completely blank. By now my voice was wavering, as erratic as the path my tears left down my cheeks.

"I thought you were mine."

I couldn't take it anymore. So I turned and ran away from the one friend that had needed me most.


	11. Oops

Okay. Before you ask why I'm now running for my life from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top agents, some of whom used to be my close friends and now want nothing more than to put a silver bullet or arrow through my brain, it may clear things up to say that it's been a while between the ending of last chapter and the beginning of this one. With enough time and the right circumstances, anything can happen. Even something as catastrophic and confusing as the steaming mess my life has become.

However, I don't want to leave you with another cliffhanger. That was mean, especially since I knew full well that I wasn't going to be returning for a while. But at the moment it was crucial that only Loki and I knew about our plan...of course, that also meant that everybody would think that I was a double-agent and Loki was something worse.

But what are friends for? If you'll recall the last sentence of the previous chapter: '...from the one friend that had needed me most.' When I finally realized that, I felt like the worst person in the world. I literally almost broke down and cried just from writing that down. But I didn't, because Loki's here, and that would be embarrassing.

Anyway. You probably need a recap first, before I launch into how nerve-wracking it is to almost miss the flight that is your ticket out of a manhunt. So here it is.

* * *

"I didn't take it."

I looked up so fast I almost broke my neck. Of course it was him, leaning against the doorjamb the way he did that very first day that felt like forever ago. But his eyes didn't shine the way they normally did, like he had forgotten to polish his emerald irises on his way to the rescue. His voice was equally dull, more lifeless than I'd ever heard it. Despite how angry I was at myself and him, I couldn't help but feel concern for my...for what used to be my friend.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" I growled, sniffling and unabashedly rubbing my tears off on my sleeve. "God of Lies. Another mental slap in the face for getting attached to someone like you."

I thought he was going to say something clever or snappy, something that would bolster his confidence as much as it would annoy me. But he didn't. Not a breath escaped his lips. For once in his life silence was his greatest weapon. It cut me to the quick, and I found myself forcing back a fresh wave of tears. I put my face down in my arms, grunting at Loki for him to leave me to my miserable wallowing.

"I didn't expect you to believe me," he murmured softly. So painfully soft he must've been crying. "In fact, I might've had a mind to disown you had you taken my word for it. I'm the boy who cried wolf...if you'll forgive my double entendre. I've lied a thousand times, so how can I expect you to believe me now? I've ruined my own alibi because you of all people should know that nothing I say is valid."

I froze mid-sob. Of all the things I thought he would say, that was the complete opposite of anything I thought could possibly come out of his mouth.

"Loki, that's-" I stopped myself when I realized I'd looked up at him. Big mistake. Carefully I looked away from his liquid, greener-than-green eyes.

"...not what I expected you to say." I said truthfully, settling back into myself and resuming my guarded look. He let out a small sigh, almost inaudible. Almost.

"Thank you, I suppose?" he muttered, turning to look back out the doorway. Observing him, he seemed apprehensive, like he was watching for something out there. I was instantly suspicious. Loki was right-with the God of Mischief, you can't afford to be anything but vigilant.

"What are you doing?" I implied, scootching up to see him better. He didn't look as sad anymore, probably distracted with his task.

"Watching out for some extremely angry agents that should be due any second now," he mused, raising his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes as if it took effort to look all the way down the hall. It wasn't the best excuse to ignore me that I'd seen, but it wasn't the worst either.

"Angry, eh?" I drawled. _Gee, I wonder._

"Oh, yes. Livid," he described with half a smile as if picturing their expressions. "No one's going to be happy when they find me gone, especially in such proximity to the disappearance of the Tesseract."

Then it dawned on me that he was being serious. And that this was serious. More serious than any crisis I could have claimed to have witnessed.

"Loki, what were you thinking?" I burst vehemently. The Avengers were already looking for an excuse to tear into him, and with what Loki had done I didn't know that I could stop them. "Escaping at a time like this? They already think it's you. Heck, _I_ thought it was you. It still could be you, for all I know!"

"Kinners, I know I couldn't possibly ask this of you after all I've done, but could you trust me one more time?"

It was times like this that I wondered if I was being a great friend or a great idiot. I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, knowing that this wouldn't be pleasant.

"This better be either the cold truth or the best lie you've ever told." I stated flatly.

"I know who it is," Loki began, only daring to look at me for a moment before checking down the other side of the corridor. "and I know that that fact by itself could convict me, but I swear I wasn't with him on this one. I know where he'll run, what he'll do, and how he thinks. To my knowledge he doesn't know I've turned, because...well, frankly, I didn't either until now."

Loki waited for me to say something, and when I didn't he looked at me. Before he could see how much that meant to me, I raised my eyebrows coolly and gave him his own slightly sarcastic _Go on._ face. He took it as a cue to look away, which gave me a chance to blot away my mounting tears.

"I need to catch him," he vowed. The determination in his voice and face could only be described as heroic. "I wish I could say want, but I don't think that's quite true. Not yet, anyway. I've had a taste of the glory a hero enjoys, but I can't say that I am one. Not after what I've done. But this...I know it could never atone for my sins, but I can't ignore it either. Perhaps...perhaps that's all that being a hero means. Perhaps I don't need to be adored. Just to know for myself that I am doing something good."

For the second time ever, I beheld the look of horror-infused confusion that Loki saved for moments when he looked back at me and found me crying.

Reddening, I pulled my hat low over my eyes. As if that would help, he'd already seen me. This time he didn't immediately embrace me, maybe because I was attempting to smile. Knowing Loki's experience with people, that would definitely throw him.

"...did I say something wrong?" he asked delicately. I shook my head, rubbing away my tears before they could streak down to my chin.

"No," I sobbed, trying to get myself under control and failing pathetically. "It's just…," Nope, still can't speak complete thoughts. "...oh, come here, you."

I hugged Loki.

He tensed up again, so I loosened my death grip a little because I thought he was going to push me away again. But he didn't. He did the exact thing that I wanted him to do but knew he never would. He hugged me back.

For the longest time, I just cried and cried over his shoulder right there in the doorway.

"You sure I didn't say anything wrong?" he asked again, tentatively. That was so far from the truth that I laughed out loud.

"No," I assured him, stepping back and giving him the best smile that a weeping friend under emotional duress can give. And then I told him the truth, just like he had done for me.

"You did something very right today, Loki. And I'm proud of you for that."

To my eternal shock, Loki's eyes filled up with tears themselves. His mouth hung open for a moment, trying to find words to say. Then he bit his lip and looked away from me. Finally he scrunched his eyes shut and looked down, as if he were confessing his sins all over again.

"Did I?" he queried in a shaky, frail plea. I smiled at him, even though he couldn't see it with his face to the floor.

"Yeah, you did." I said again, steadily gaining control of my voice. I took his shoulder in as comforting a manner as I could muster. "Good job."

"Well-" He was having trouble finishing his sentences, too. He took a deep breath and looked back up, out the still-broken window where I'd saved his life without even thinking about it.* Then he found the strength to look me in the eye and give me his prized fangirl-heart-attack-inducing smile. Complete with a mischievous eyebrow twitch.

"Oops."

We both burst out laughing.

_*See Werewolf vs. Shield_


	12. Afraid to Ask

If there were ever a time for a grim interruption-

"Kins?"

Oh, perfect.

Loki vanished from sight halfway through his reaction away from the door. Only half a moment later Natasha poked her head in the door, locating me with that look she reserved for business purposes. Mentally I had to give him points for that amazing reflex check he just aced. Oh, and prepare myself for the several lie and persuade checks that I was about to make. Couldn't I just borrow Loki's stats on this one?

"Have you seen Loki?" she asked, professionally keeping her mention of his name less than vitriolic. I almost responded too quickly because I knew what she was asking before she opened her mouth.

"Mm-mm," I replied automatically, furrowing my brows. I almost stopped myself from begging the question, but then I reasoned that it was okay because I'd already given a (hopefully) believable answer. "Why? I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Are you okay?" she inquired in a surprising show of human concern. She seemed like she had been about to say something else, but was now taking in my weeping countenance with only benevolent worry. Or at least, that's all I could find. I didn't want to lie to her.

"Yeah," I replied, rubbing my eyes with my sweater sleeve as I tried to decide what I could and couldn't tell her. "It's just...agh, Loki again. First he scares me half to death with his freaky werewolf reaction, and now this? I thought he was okay finally, that we'd actually made progress and he was really turning around. Or at least, not being evil anymore. He told me...he's just..._ugh!_ Why do I try to be friends with everyone?"

"Hey," She bent to my level and reached out to put a hand on my shoulder, giving me what I honestly thought was her most honest smile. I began to tear up again. "For what it's worth, I sure appreciate the effort."

She stood up straight again and beckoned with a flick of her head, her smile only fading slightly.

"C'mon, let's go find him."

I bit my lip and looked down, letting my hat obscure my features.

"I...I'm sorry, but I can't," I apologized, looking away in shame. "I just...I don't think I could face him right now. After what he just did, I can't...ah, it would just make it worse. Um...yeah, it's not a good idea...for me, at least. I just need some downtime. You guys can probably handle him, if you find him. Good luck, though."

There was a long pause. My heart stopped with time.

"It's okay," she said finally. I didn't dare look up at her yet. "I understand. Sometimes I forget that you're new to the whole Avengers thing."

"Yeah," I half-laughed back. "I forgot sometimes, too. Almost got me killed. It's never a good thing when I pretend to be cool."

Then I looked up at her. Her smile still looked honest, but that could have meant anything. She looked almost confused. Then she shook her head at me.

"You don't have to pretend."

I blushed and pulled my hat down bashfully over my eyes. Yet when I sensed her moving away I felt compelled to stop her with an ardent plea.

"Can I have a hug?"

You didn't have to be Black Widow to be able to tell that she didn't want to.

For a long time she stood there, half in the door and half out, torn between her job-related instinct and her budding friendship with me. She bit her lip, looking down and away, eyes racing with thought. Finally she took a breath, and she was still for a moment. Then she nodded.

By the time she turned towards me I was already there. When I hugged her she at first tensed up, just like Loki did, unaccustomed to such benign physical interaction. But she warmed up soon after, revealing a strength I previously hadn't known in her. For some reason when she hugged me back she reminded me of my mom. A fresh wave of tears clouded my eyes, my throat once again acquiring a sense of claustrophobia. I'd forgotten how long it had been since I'd seen any of them, my old friends, my family. If they missed me half as much as I missed them….

She pulled back, giving me another smile and shoulder pat when she saw me crying again. I gave her a strained smile and a nod, speech no longer an option. Then she left.

The room was silent. But I hadn't forgotten. I felt the golden shimmer of his fading illusion through closed eyelids.

"That was the best lying you've ever done," murmured Loki in awe. I opened my eyes again, looking out the door after her. The room was dark, but outside the hall lights glowed their pristine white. I wanted to follow her.

"Thank you for staying." he said, stepping closer to me. I wiped my tears on my sleeve and reached to close the door and turn the lights on. Then I turned towards him-I was as ready as I would ever be.

"What do you need?" I asked. He was surprisingly forthright, considering himself, his request, and my subsequent reaction.

"I need you to come with me." he requested frankly. About then I gave him the most on-point 'Are You Freaking Kidding Me?' face I have ever given to date.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" I demanded, my temper flaring. His only reply was a face of indifference coupled with raised eyebrows, which only served to stoke my indignation further. "Okay, I'm sorry, but did you analyze what just came out of your mouth? Because it's complete gibberish. What alien changeling monstrosity are you and what have you done with Loki?! The _real_ Loki is the smart one, and I'm not, which is why I stay home and be my dumb awkward self and live my dumb awkward life _which I have!_ I guess you wouldn't know because apparently I'm the only friend you have, which is equally if not more so ridonkulous than your harebrained scheme of dragging me along for the ride. There's no way I'm the only friend you have in the whole stinkin' nine realms. On the ship, maybe, but that's kind of your own fault and completely irrelevant. _You're a freaking Asgardian!_ You've got to have friends that are way more powerful or useful or cool, at the very least acquaintances. Why the merry kriff do you need me?"

"Once again you're absolutely right," he responded coolly, inclining his head at me and my wrathful expression with infuriating calm. "I have friends, acquaintances and assorted other contacts that are far more impressive than you…"

"See?!" I interjected. His eyebrows went up and he smiled.

"...at first glance." he finished.

"Ugh!"

"You underestimate yourself," he told me ominously, a spark flashing for a moment in those eyes of infinite green. I shivered. "which is partially what I'm counting on. If you do that, and you're so clever, what's to keep the enemy safe from the same assumption? You _do_ have power, and you _are_ something impressive, because you possess something that nobody else I know has. Something I need."

"Wh...what are you talking about?" I questioned pensively. He had been beginning to scare me with the direness of his speech, but at my query he softened a little, back to the all-too-human Loki I knew.

"Kinners, you're…" He paused and furrowed his brows, looking away and up into his eyebrows as if rethinking what to say. With a small sigh he looked back at me, and he looked almost sad again. "I need you to come with me because I don't trust myself. As I said before, I only recently came back to the light, and I'm...I'm just not sure of myself anymore. But you're _good._ I can't explain it, because I've never seen this in anyone before, you just are. There's no one like you, and I need...I need you to keep me from falling away again, because if I did, I..."

We looked each other in the eye with cataclysmic timing.

"I don't think I could come back."

And I thought I'd finished crying for the night.

I looked down again, noting with mild interest the explosion of a crystalline tear on the carpet far below. This time Loki didn't react, as if afraid to further upset the balance when he couldn't predict his actions' consequences. His silence was once more abhorrent. I took a shaky breath and looked back up at him, praying that I sounded stronger than I thought I did when I told him,

"I'll come."

Now I was leaving my new ones.


	13. Extremely Angry Agents

Imma say this once, don't make me say it again: packing for an indefinitely long trip to who-knows-where with a Nordic god SUCKS.

Now, the indefinite and who-knows-where parts would be pretty obvious as to the suck factor. You don't know whether to pack breathable shorts or furry sweatpants, so you decide to pack both with the full knowledge that once you arrive you will be stuck wearing one of them for days on end. So you attempt to stuff your whole wardrobe in your suitcase, which is absolute agony for me because I'm a huge nostalgiac and I can't bring myself to leave the least of my nerdy t-shirts or faded jeans behind. But the clothes ain't the half of it-you feel compelled to bring everything else, too, because you haven't the faintest clue what's going to happen or where you'll wind up and your traveling buddy wouldn't drop you one anyway. My usual bag count for a camping trip or something equally predictable is two. Max. This one came to four, plus utilizing both pockets from my baggy sweater and all six in my cargo pants. And I'm not talking dinky travel bags, I'm talking duffel and suitcase status. Like, bags you could humanely fit large dogs or small ponies into. A final word of warning for anyone who wants to travel anywhere ever: 'indefinitely long' and 'who-knows-where' are two phrases/concepts you should avoid at all costs.

Okay, fine, I'm done. Wait, Loki. No, I'm not.

As if this weren't hard enough, the Nordic god part is almost as bad as both of them combined. Imagine having to pack for a trip like this with a person hanging over your shoulder who is your nagging dad who thinks he knows everything, your high and mighty elder sibling who thinks you're always doing everything wrong, and your sarcastic friend who doesn't know anything but won't shut up all rolled into one guy. Oh, and don't forget the superpowers that enable him to phase in and out of reality and make certain of your uncertainty as to when he will pop up and whether or not he is present. He'd pop in to drop a snide comment about what I was packing (sometimes an uncannily feminine comment about my choice in apparel), we'd go back and forth for a little bit, and as soon as I would score the measliest point he'd just wink out of existence. He probably hung around to watch my reactions to such an act, as I'm sure it's drop-dead hilarious to watch me fume since I refuse to swear. Yes, he teases me about that, too, despite the undeniable fact that I've never heard him say so much as 'dangit.' Must've picked it up from Tony.

All right, _now_ I'm done. I promise.

I'm beginning to suspect that Loki put a ward or charm on my door, because despite having stayed up for hours with my lights clearly on and talking to myself and/or Loki aloud nobody stopped by. Despite my aforementioned woes, I made surprisingly good time, especially taking into account my predisposition for being all-around horrible at packing. Even more surprising, I didn't feel the need for sleep until I looked at the clock and beheld an ominous one-colon-o'four. About then I realized that I was about to hit the deck.

I suppose I must have sleepwalked into bed, because I don't remember anything at all after that bit. But my sleepwalk autopilot had neglected to put me in pajamas, either because I had already packed them up and getting them out would have taken too much cognitive effort or because I was too dog tired to care. Loki must've figured out by now that if I'm sleepy enough I won't think things through or even bother arguing, because when he woke me up it was still dark. In case you're wondering how that's relevant, at the time it was summer and we were hovering over Maine. I'm surprised that I was functioning well enough to even comprehend speech.

"Hey."

The whispered word plus the shaking of my shoulder was just enough to wake me up but not enough to make me react violently. I grumbled and buried my head further in my comforter, utilizing every body language cue known to humankind to inform Loki that I needed more sleep. _Needed._

"It's time to go."

I grumbled at him as his footsteps echoed out the door, mentally cursing him and his immunity to sleep depravity. I'm so jealous.

However, I knew that this mission was too important for me to delay it, no matter how little hours of sleep I was going on. I didn't bother to freshen up too much, so I was able to be ready to go in what I guessed to be about ten minutes, since I'd slept in not-too-shabby clothes. But just before I left, I couldn't help but stop to look at that note. The note I'd spent two out of those three hours working on. The shabby paper note sealed in a deceptively white envelope with a Star Wars Imperial insignia from my ring stamped into a red wax seal. The note in which I'd pleaded for forgiveness and tried as valiantly as humanly possible to make it clear that I didn't want to do this. Not to them. The note that told them I loved them even though they would never believe me after this day.

Turning away at the feel of tears beginning to flood my eyelids and pulling down my favorite and oldest grey hat over them, I hefted my bags and stepped out the door.

* * *

"For the last time, will you _stop that?_"

For the umpteenth time, I let loose a string of Elvish and Klingon curses in my head, the target of which was none other than my favorite God of Mischief. Well, at the moment I was feeling more least-favorite, as evident by my aforementioned curses. Loki was undoubtedly swearing at me in his own cranium, as he had been telling me to 'stop it' for the past half hour. Stop what, exactly? Oh, nothing, just checking over both shoulders every minute and a half for some extremely angry agents that should be due any second now. How could he expect me to _not_ be looking around? Yeah, this is how you successfully be on the lam, kids! Whatever you do,_ don't make sure you're not being followed._

"Stop what?" I retorted, flashing him some eye lightning which he didn't catch because he was too busy looking ahead through the milling crowd of passive fliers and fickle tourists and disgruntled businesspeople. "Keeping ourselves from getting caught? Yeah, sure, okay. Bet you'll still be saying that when we _do_ get caught?"

"If you think you can do a better job of that than I am as we speak, be my guest," he invited sarcastically. Loki was pretty good at making me feel like a complete idiot when the fancy struck him. Of course he would be protecting us magically, what else would he be doing? Heck, he was still wearing his typically atypical outfit, which would have earned either a geeky smile from a LARPer or an awkward stare from everyone else. If he weren't covering us S.H.I.E.L.D. would be all over us by now. I thought of all this in a second or two, but then it occurred to me that I could still be right.

"Wait, but if you're covering us, why does it matter if I check our backs once in a while?" I inquired. He sighed and rolled his eyes at me as if I knew nothing and pretended I knew everything. "Couldn't hurt, could it?"

"If I was wasting energy telling the world we weren't even here, you would be correct," he replied coolly. Menos puntos for Hufflepuff. "But I'm not, and you aren't. I only changed our appearances. But if you keep acting like you've got something to be guilty about, for example being on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D., someone's bound to notice."

Grumbling an apology under my breath, I narrowly avoided getting run over by a family of humans and rolling suitcases who was very clearly late. Coincidentally I had a notion to check my watch, having abandoned my phone as to not be tracked. After a second or two it registered to me that it said 9:26.

"When's our flight, again?" I asked, as casually as I could manage.

"9:30, local time," repeated Loki for the umpteenth to the second power time.

"So in four minutes?"

That woke him up like an ice bucket over the shoulders.

"Come on," he growled, seizing my only semi-free arm and accelerating akin to a panoz.

I'm pretty sure I knocked over one or more people, but what was more pressing to me was the undeniable feeling that we were being followed. Maybe it was because I was hearing footsteps behind me. Despite my omnipresent grudge against physical exertion, I brought myself to speed up, frantically scanning the terminal numbers as they raced past even though Loki was the only one who knew which flight was ours. I could've sworn they were getting louder, combat boots clomping on the precarious tile floor like horse hooves chasing a fox. Incredibly fast paced combat boots. If the agents chasing us were the agents I thought they were, there was no way we could outdistance them flat-out. The only way to outrun something or someone faster than you was-

Loki made a turn so fast and sharp that at first I thought he'd just disappeared.

Too bad I wasn't half as graceful as he was.

With an unladylike yelp, I went flying, skidding across the linoleumed floor like a goal-winning hockey puck. As I whirled on my stomach and attempted to make sense of the spinning world, I sensed the agent decelerating to a halt beside my prone form. I winced and closed my eyes, not from present physical pain but from the emotional wrecking I was about to endure. I was caught.

"Need a hand, ma'am?"

Blinking and making a querulous sound, I rolled onto my back to see Steve bent over me and offering me a hand. That genuine smile was radiant enough to make me smile right back before I could bring to mind anything about wanting to avoid this man. In a surprising show of faith, I managed an awkward thank you and took the hand. I cast my eyes about to begin regathering my bags, but Steve had already grabbed all of them and now handed them to me as if they weighed nothing. As deftly as I could I took them all, scarcely daring to believe it. Steve gave me a warm smile, as if he'd already forgiven me for everything. But looking up into his face, I didn't see recognition in his eyes.

"You all right, miss?"

My smile faded along with the light of faith that Captain America had sparked in me. Of course. If he knew who I was, he wouldn't have helped me up. Not before putting me in handcuffs. He didn't see me. I didn't even know who he was seeing.

"Yes," I said curtly, nodding and smiling perfunctorily. "Thank you."

With one last hand on my shoulder, he brisked past me and was gone.

It was all I could do to not look around at him.

_"Kinners!"_

Glaring into my eyebrows as to not set anything else on fire, I turned the other way, booking it to my now officially least-favorite god.

"Yes, yes, you insufferable wyrm, I'm coming!"


	14. Not Sad

So now I'm here.

Sitting between Loki and the window, occasionally casting glances outside at the sky's half-white and half-blue expanse, documenting all this despite Loki's misgivings. He didn't realize I'd brought along my ancient writing laptop until I pulled it out after we'd been seated, and immediately demanded with no platitudinal expletive what in the name of sanity I was thinking. After a good half hour of arguing and trying to convince him that wi-fi didn't exist at typical cruising altitudes and I didn't need it to write this down anyway and there's no way S.H.I.E.L.D. would bother tracking such a dinosaur, he let off enough for me to focus and write down everything that had happened since my first-and until further development last-poker night. Three chapters is no amount to scoff at, so it's been an hour and a half since we boarded and we are one fourth of the way from America to London. Needless to say I would have been ecstatic at going to London since I've never been despite really wanting to, if not for the dire circumstances under which we fly. I wonder who in London we're looking for, but the only person that comes to my mind is someone I'm fairly certain I would not like to meet in person. Or at all. Let's hope Loki's mind comes up with something else. _Anything_ else.

The flight has been pretty pleasant thus far, no storms or whatnot. At takeoff we flew through some clouds which I loved, but nothing as exciting has happened since. As I type Loki is suspiciously silent next to me. I would suspect that he has fallen asleep if not for his eyes being half-open, but save that piece of contradicting evidence he looks for all the world like he's konked out. Slouching, head back, breathing long and slow and steady. Maybe he can sleep with his eyes open, like Gandalf. Of course, it could also be an illusory decoy in place while he goes off doing who-knows-what. I'll have to keep that in mind if I ever work up the nerve to prank him in his sleep.

Running out of things to say, it occurred to me that this could be the last time I write anything for a very long time, maybe ever. So I'm trying to work up my inner nostalgiac, get as close to the cusp of paralytic despair as I dare because that's where the inspiration runs fast and cold like a river after a spring thaw. Just like every time I feel like I'm not quite there, but I need to get over it and write anyway because if I waste too much time trying to push to that edge I'll fall over it and get caught in that web of sweet sorrow. Then not a word will get out of me. But the opposite has happened-I just wrote a ton, but the emotional density is shabby. But it's not like I can do anything about that. Ah, well.

I wonder if they miss me. Or if they believe the cover story that was fed to them. I'd never really speculated on such a scenario, because I figured that I'm so close to my family and friends that I would never let myself be removed so utterly from them. But of course that's exactly what fate decides to hit me with, because I was arrogant enough to think that it couldn't happen to me. And like everyone else who has been hit in a similar fashion, I have to ask why. Why was it me, of all people? There are plenty of other fangirls who wouldn't miss their homes as much as I would when in the presence of the God of Mischief. Shouldn't it be one of them that has to endure this subtle torture? I know this is all infantile and selfish, but I can't write any other way because I don't feel anything else. All of it is this aching feeling of nothingness in my chest as nostalgic high school songs about being removed echo in my head, all infiltrating my pathos with a refusal to end. I want it to as much as I don't. The logic in me orders it to stop, but the human in me pines for it to keep going because it's addicted to the feel of endings because it hates them so the feeling shouldn't end either. What on earth made me think humanity was easy?

Loki's waking up.

Readers, whoever you may be, I bid you a solemn but not sad adieu.

_~Kinners_


End file.
